


Ankhanan Justice

by magistera



Category: Acts of Caine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-04 19:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magistera/pseuds/magistera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caine's second Adventure isn't the sort of thing he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elizabeth Culmer (edenfalling)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenfalling/gifts).



It seems like I always end up covered in other people's shit.

Shit.

Shit, I forgot to monologue again.

Clearing my mental "throat", I tried again, subvocalizing this time. *It seems like I always end up covered in other people's shit.* The alleyway I'm crouched in is too narrow to avoid the detrius of human and nonhuman habitation - it's clear that the occupants of the tenements to either side of me aren't shy about emptying their chamberpots out their windows. The smell is enough to offend even my jaded nose - human shit mixed with elves' and ogrilloi and god knows what else.

I don't let it stop me, though. I've got a mission to complete.

It's not much like my usual missions for the Monasteries - those tend to revolve less around sneaking through alleys and more around shocking acts of senseless violence. Not that I'm above sneaking through the alleys on my way to the shocking violence. But I can't figure out why Brother Jathe thought I was the perfect friar to send on this little adventure. Even less do I see why my...employers (I can't even think the right words) saw fit to agree to this little Adventure. Even if it's only my second, it's not exactly the gripping stuff of legend.

"It's very simple," Jathe told me. "Pedemen Grist stole something from us, and you're going to get it back."

"What did he steal?" I asked, with purely academic interest.

"The Greaves of Malkir," Jathe said. "They are an artifact of one of the early members of our Order, and as such convey great power to the wearer."

"So how'd this fuck get his hands on them, then?"

Jathe had the grace to look abashed. "We don't know exactly. They were lost several hundred years ago, at the Battle of - "

"All right," I agreed. "So I'll find this guy, and kill him - "

"No," Brother Jathe interrupted. "We don't want him killed. You're to retrieve the items without harming Grist. Ideally, without him knowing it's gone."

I stared at him. Then I stood up to leave. "You don't want me for this job," I said. "You want a good cat burglar."

"I assure you, Caine, my orders are very specific," Jathe said. I took a step toward the door, and he spoke again. "You swore an oath to obey me during your probationary period, Friar Caine. Leave now, and you will be cast out of our Order."

I stopped. For all of me I had no reason to remain a friar of the Monastic Order - I had completed my Esoteric training, after all - but my contract specified that I was to remain a monk in good standing.

"All right," I repeated. "Why me?"

Jathe's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "It is not our place to question, Caine."

"Fine," I said, irritated. "Where do I find this guy, and what kind of help can you give me?" I was hoping for a griffinstone-powered Cloak or something similar, to help me sneak around.

Jathe produced a sheet of parchment with an address written on it. "Memorize this, and burn it," he said. "That is all I can give you. Oh, and one last thing: Should you be caught, the Monasteries will disavow your actions, and yourself, utterly."

Great. "I guess I'd better not get caught, then, huh?" I said. I looked at the address. It was in Ankhana, albeit not a terribly cheerful part of the city. "When do I leave?"

I froze, briefly, as a group of humans caroused past the alley. It was Founding Day, and all of Ankhana was out celebrating with mage-worked fireworks and plenty of booze. That was why I'd chosen tonight to make my play for the Greaves. They passed by without seeing me, and I relaxed. *Time to get this show on the road.*

Looking up at the tenement walls, I took a deep breath, summoning Control. *One small step for man...* Lack of modern plumbing amenities meant no handy pipes to shimmy up, but if I got the angles right...I crouched, and then sprang into the air. I bounced from wall to wall, back and forth, until I reached the floor where Grist's room was. I'd marked it out carefully the week before - and noted that he liked to sleep with the window open. A second later, I was hanging from the windowsill by my fingertips.

Shit. Shit. This was harder than I thought it'd be. It took every shred of concentration I had to hold onto the Control Disciplines, which didn't leave much left for levering myself up and into the room. I'd pictured it something like a vault from a hanging position, but the narrow windowsill didn't give me nearly enough leverage. I scrabbled at the walls with my feet, looking for an outhanging brick or something like that, anything that would give me some purchase. *Come on, come on...*

At last my foot caught on something sticking far enough out to let me inch my fingers a little bit farther onto the sill, and I started the search all over again, looking for another "step" a little higher.

Finally, after several repetitions, I was able to pull myself up until I was clinging to the inner windowsill, which gave me enough leverage to pull myself up and inside.

Or halfway inside, anyway. What I saw when my head cleared the window was enough to make me freeze with my ass hanging out the other side.

I wasn't the first visitor Pedemen Grist had had tonight. And whoever had been there before me had made sure they were the last visitors Grist would ever receive. Messily.

When they were finished with him, they'd cut his throat, but there was more than enough blood and other things spread around to indicate that they'd spent a long time working him over first. His eyes were wide and staring, and one of them was dangling down the front of his face. The rest of his face was a bloody ruin, nose smashed flat, lips split against broken teeth. One of his ears was missing. He was seated on a small wooden chair - tied to it, I noted belatedly - and his hands were clutching at his stomach, as if even in death he was trying to hold in the intestines that spilled out over them.

The whole room stank of shit, piss and gore. It was even worse than the alleyway. "Motherfucking son of a fuck-me sonofabitching whore," I cursed as I scrambled the rest of the way in the window.

I took stock as soon as I was back on my feet. The room was about as small and barren as the ones I'd grown up in in the Labor slums. Four walls, a door (barred from the inside; nothing a thaumaturge couldn't have managed with a little basic TK, but interesting nonetheless), a window. Dad and I didn't have a chamberpot in the corner, but maybe it would have been better if we had, when he was going through his bad spells.

It all added up to not many places to search for the Greaves. I did a quick check of Grist's body to make sure he wasn't wearing them under his pants; no luck. I looked under the bed and in the tiny trunk at its foot and then I was done searching every possible hiding place. No sign of them. Of course, it had always been too much to ask that whoever did for Grist had left behind what seemed to be the only thing of value the man had ever possessed.

Shit. I'd stopped monologuing again.

*How did a loser like Grist ever get his hands on the Greaves, anyway?* I subvocalized, trying to gather my thoughts with the familiar Soliloquy. *And once he had them, why didn't he try to sell them?*

Or had he tried, and been killed for his trouble? It wouldn't be the first time that an unscrupulous fence followed a recalcitrant seller home for a personal visit. But Grist's wounds seemed a little personal for a failed business deal. And something about them was making something in my memory twitch. *That pattern of cuts, there, along his ribcage - I've seen it before, but where?*

My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden banging at the door. "Open up in the name of the law!" a voice bellowed. I felt my teeth bare in a sudden grin. Finally, something I could fight. *Why the hell not?* I monologued, and opened the door.

It took the two Grey Cats on the other side a few seconds to take in the scene behind me; they just stared, openmouthed, at Grist's corpse. Finally one of them spoke up. He sounded young and uncertain. "Freeman Caine." I jumped at the sound of my name. *How did they know - ?* "You are under arrest, in the Emperor's name!"

"Well, funny thing about that," I said. "I'm a little busy to be arrested today." I dropped into a crouch. "So I guess we've got a bit of a problem."

The pair looked at each other, then unlimbered their staves as one. I ducked under the first one's swing and came up swinging, clipping the first Grey Cat under the jaw as he struggled to get his staff in a position to block me. His head snapped back, and he stumbled back a couple of steps, giving me room to deal with the other.

I jumped over the second Grey Cat's low swing at my legs, and kept jumping - Control Discipline fueled my leap into the air. Tucking my legs underneath me, I brought them up and powered them into the Grey Cat's chest. His mouth gaped open as I carried him over and down, landing on his chest as he hit the ground. I heard/felt something crunch ominously beneath my feet.

Stepping off the now-dying man's chest, I ducked just in time to miss the staff that went whistling over my head. Feeling my mouth stretch into a feral grin, I grabbed the end of the staff and gave it a little tug - just enough to pull the Grey Cat off balance, make him step forward a little.

Just enough to give me an opening to plant my foot squarely in his crotch. When he doubled over in pain, his throat met my fist coming up to meet it. He went down with a choking gurgle that counterpointed his companion's desperate wheezing.

*Not a bad little fight,* I monologued. I glanced back at them once, and then left the room, whistling, and turned right down the corridor.

Which is when the third Grey Cat came up behind me and hit me in the back of the head. Everything went black for a while.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke up in gaol. The Monasteries made bail as soon as word was sent to them, of course, but not before the guards had had a chance to work me over in my cell. The constabulary here don't have shock batons like our Social Police, but they make their wooden ones do nearly as good a job, although with a few more unfortunate marks left behind. So I was limping a little, and rubbing my sore back as best I could, as I walked back into Jathe's office.

"You set me up," I accused as soon as I opened the door. Jathe and his companion looked up, startled, from where they were huddled over a sheaf of documents on Jathe's desk.

I didn't recognize the other man. I didn't care. "Leave," I said. "I've already killed two men today. I don't mind adding a third."

It must have looked like I meant it, because he scuttled out of there as quickly as he could, glancing at me uneasily as he passed. I grinned.

"Caine," Jathe said in a shocked tone. "That was the ambassador of - "

"I don't care," I interrupted. "You set me up, and I am going to find out why if I have to take you apart piece by piece to do it."

Jathe spread his hands. "Let's start over. Hello, Caine, how are you?"

"Hello, Jathe, I'm a little sore from where Ankhana's finest decided to use me for a training dummy, and can we cut the crap and get to the point, you goatfucker?"

Jathe took a seat behind his desk. "One," he said.

"One what?" I said, slightly derailed by his bland expression.

"You killed one man today. The other Grey Cat will live. Unless, of course, you are counting Pedemen Grist. Why did you kill him, Caine? I expressly ordered you not to."

"I didn't kill Grist and you know it, you son of a whore. He was dead when I got there."

"Mmm, and how do you plan on proving that to the satisfaction of Ankhana's magistrates? I've already been in touch with our Ambassador to Ankhana, and he was very clear: the Monasteries will not protect you from Ankhanan justice. Unless..." he trailed off with an oily smile.

Shit. Jathe has never liked me, and now he's found a way to dispose of me while keeping his hands perfectly clean. "Unless what, you bastard?" I grate.

Jathe spread his hands again. "Unless, of course, you're able to find the real killer and prove your innocence. I believe you have - " he looked down at the papers on his desk " - three days until the trial."

*Well, hell,* I monologued. *It seems like I always end up covered in other people's shit.*


	3. Chapter 3

The Exotic Love was never empty, day or night; but tonight it was positively crammed with beings of all types. Unlike the rest of the city, where the various races duked it out or distastefully kept their distance from each other, here you could see ogrillos rubbing shoulders with elves and treetoppers and dwarves. And, of course, humans.

*Humans,* I monologued. *Give us half a chance, and we'll fuck just about anything.*

"I'm new here," I told the grill at the bar. Over his shoulder, reflected in the mirror, I could see the floor show - consisting of a male human, a treetopper, and an ogrillo sow - doing things I knew I'd have a hard time getting off the backs of my eyelids later. "If I wanted to find some - information - where would I start looking?"

The grill snorted. "Dis ain't da place to come for information," he said. "Place for games, sure. But information - nobody got no information here. Nobody even got names, here."

I sighed. Then I reached forward and grabbed his fighting claws, pushing them backward until he grunted in pain. He hadn't expected that, and his eyes widened as I increased the pressure to just short of the breaking point.

"We can do this the easy way, if you want," I said. "The easy way ends up with you dead on the floor. Of course, that doesn't help either of us much, but it's a lot easier for me than playing games with you all night."

I saw the submission in his eyes an instant before he capitulated. Ogrillos are easy enough to handle if you know how to approach them. "All right, all right," he said. "In the corner - that guy over there. It's gonna cost, though."

"Everything does," I said, releasing his claws.

He shook them gingerly, giving me a wounded look. "You didn't hafta do that," he said.

"No," I told him, "but it's more fun this way."

'That guy over there' turned out to be an elf. *Great,* I monologued. *I hate dealing with elves.* Nonetheless, I walked over and invited myself to a seat at his table.

"Hi," I said. "Mind if I buy you a drink?"

The elf shrugged eloquently, the way they did everything. His expression clearly indicated that he considered me to be no more or less of an irritation than a smear of mud on his shoe.

I signaled, and a treetopper waitress fluttered over. "Ale for me, and nectar or ambrosia or whatever my friend here drinks." She rolled her eyes.

"Honeyed wine," the elf told her. She flew off in search of the drinks, and the elf went back to ignoring me.

"Listen," I said. "I'm told you're the guy to come to if I need information."

He sighed in a put-upon way. "I am not your 'guy'," he said. "And if I have been known to purvey certain data for the right price, I certainly never consorted with creatures like you."

"I'm not asking you to consort with me, sweetheart," I said, just to watch him grimace. "I'm just looking for a few facts. Someone killed a man in the Warrens yesterday."

The elf shrugged again. "That happens every day."

"Not this way, it doesn't. His name was Pedemen Grist, and whoever killed him took him apart before they let him die."

"Pedemen Grist." The elf considered for a second. "The name is familiar."

"He might have been trying to sell a magickal artifact before he died," I added. "A set of greaves."

"Ah - now I remember. The information you seek will cost you, though." He raised one eyebrow expectantly.

I sighed, and pulled a purse out of my pocket, sliding it across the table. The elf used two fingers to pick it up and open it, handling it with such distaste that you'd think it was made from human - or maybe fey - skin. He glanced inside and then made it disappear.

"The human you speak of was here two nights ago," he said. "He made several attempts to sell the artifacts in his possession, but was unsuccessful."

"And he left here unmolested?" I pressed.

The elf sniffed. "Kierendal would not allow any of her people to renege on even an attempted sale in such a fashion."

"All right, so she's Miss Honorable. So what happened to him?"

The elf spread his hands. "I do not know."

"That's it?" I demanded. "That's all you can give me? That's not worth what I paid and you know it."

The elf sighed. "Perhaps if you go looking among the thieves, you might find something worthwhile."

*Shit. More running around. And meanwhile I'm running out of time.* I made my most ironic bow to the elf; he accepted it with an equally ironic nod. "Thank you for your time, fey, and may you have a good night," I said, and then stood up and left the Exotic Love.


	4. Chapter 4

Finding a thief was easy enough. I just went walking through the Warrens until I felt ghostly fingers feeling for my purse, and grabbed them.

"Hey!" exclaimed the kid I caught. "What are you doing, mister?"

I dragged him in close, let him see my feral grin. Then I showed him the knife I'd pulled from the back of my belt. "I want to see Majesty," I said.

The kid tried to tough it out. "I dunno who you mean," he said.

I brandished the knife again, letting it catch a twinkle of moonlight on the blade. "Don't play with me, kid," I said. "Or I'll start by making sure you sing soprano for the rest of your life, if you know what I mean."

"Okay, okay," the kid said. "I can take you to him."

"Lead on, MacDuff," I said.

"My name's not - "

"Never mind," I interrupted. "Just take me there, okay? And if I get the first inkling that you might be leading me into an ambush - " I poked him in the chest with the point of the knife, and he gasped. "You won't even live to regret it."

The kid led me through an amazing tangle of streets - they aren't called the Warrens for nothing - and eventually fetched us up at in front of a building even more ramshackle than its neighbors.

"He's in there," the kid said, and then twisted sharply, breaking my hold on him. Before I could say anything, he was running up the street.

*No use in chasing him,* I monologued. *He's fast, and he knows these streets much better than I do.* Instead, I got ready to head inside and see if the kid was at least telling the truth.

There were a couple of shifty-looking characters lounging on the front steps, by all appearances dead drunk. When I approached, though, they both rolled to their feet and stepped in front of me. "You can't go in there," one of them said.

I spread my hands and stepped forward. They tensed. "Look, fellows, I don't want any trouble," I said. "I just - " Reaching out suddenly, I grabbed them by the shoulders, knocking their heads together with a satisfying clunk. They both went down like poleaxed cows.

I encountered surprisingly little resistance going in after that. There was one guard just inside the door. He wasn't expecting me, though, so the haft of my knife on the top of his head did for him. I thought about slitting his throat, but decided against it. *I don't want to get on Majesty's bad side - I just want him to know I mean business.*

I found Majesty himself sitting on a thronelike chair at the back of the house. He was surrounded by his subjects, who diced and drank and traded the results of the night's haul amongst each other. Several of them scrambled to their feet as I threw open the door and strolled in.

"Who the hell are you?" Majesty demanded.

I held up my hands. "I'm not looking for a fight," I said. "I'm just looking for some information - and I can pay."

"If I wanted your money, all I'd have to do is say the word," Majesty said. A few of his subjects inched closer.

"You could," I allowed. "And maybe you'd get it, too. But how many of your subjects would have to die for that to happen?" They stopped inching as I made the knife appear from the back of my belt again. It was one of my favorites - long, wicked-looking, with a jagged edge on the back to make sure it did more damage coming out than going in. Plus it just looked nasty.

Majesty stared at me for a long moment. I figured it had been years since anyone had dared threaten him so openly, so I was waiting to see what he would do.

He burst out laughing, finally, throwing his head back and really getting into it. His subjects stared between him and me, as if uncertain which one of us was the crazy one.

"What's your name?" Majesty said when he could finally speak again.

I grinned. "The name's Caine, Majesty."

"Caine," he repeated. "I can tell we're going to be good friends."

"I hope so, Majesty," I said sincerely. *A contact at the very top of the thieves could prove invaluable in the future.* "But I'm afraid today I have a problem." I took a deep breath. "Someone killed Pedemen Grist yesterday, in his own room, with the door locked."

"Easy enough for a mage," Majesty observed.

"Yes, but the way they killed him was rather - personal. One of his eyes torn out, throat cut - it was very, very messy."

"So why is it your problem?" Majesty asked.

"I've been charged with his murder," I said. "I've got three days - well, two, now - to prove that I didn't do it, or I'll end up in the Donjon for the rest of my extremely shortened days."

Majesty sat back in his chair. "I see why that's a problem for you," he said, "but what I don't understand is why you'd come to me."

"Because Grist was trying to sell a magickal artifact that he came by in something of a dishonest fashion," I said. "A set of greaves. I have reason to believe that he tried your fences after being turned away at Exotic Love. Maybe one of them thought he could get a better deal at the point of a knife?"

Majesty raised his hands. "I won't pretend my fences are above a little rough justice if they feel like a seller is asking too much, but killing a man? Especially like that? I would never allow them to go that far. It would be bad for business."

I started to pace around the room. When I noticed that it was making Majesty's subjects nervous, I did it faster. "But if it wasn't you, and it wasn't one of Kierendal's primal fences, then who could it have been?"

"It sounds like somebody who has it in for you," Majesty said.

I snorted. "That was my first thought," I said. "But it's awfully convoluted just to get at me."

Majesty shrugged. "I like you, Caine, but I just can't see what I can do to help you. I can ask my boys to keep an eye out for these gauntlets - "

"Greaves," I corrected.

" - greaves, whatever - but I doubt whoever went to such lengths to obtain them will turn around and sell them."

I blew out air between my lips. "I'd appreciate it if you'd keep an ear to the ground all the same," I suggested.

"I could do that," Majesty agreed.

I sighed. "Well, like I said, I appreciate it," I said.

"Oh, I won't be doing it for free," Majesty chuckled. "Consider it a future claim, should I ever need your assistance."

I gritted my teeth. Whatever favor he was likely to want in return, it wouldn't be small. *Still, maybe it'll at least be interesting...* "Sure thing, Majesty," I agreed. "Just say the word."

With another mocking bow, I turned on my heel and left the house. No one tried to stop me.


	5. Chapter 5

When I got outside, Jathe was waiting for me on the street.

"How the hell did you find me?" I demanded as soon as I saw him.

"You leave a rather broad trail behind you, Caine," he said.

"It's a funny thing," I said, "but it seems like every road I go down with this Grist thing leads straight back...to me."

Jathe shrugged. "Why'd you do it, Caine?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Very funny. I ought to ask the same of you."

"What?" Jathe said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do," I said, advancing on him slowly. "It's like I said in your office - you set me up."

He took a step back. "Don't be ridiculous, Caine," he said with a false-sounding laugh. "Why would I set you up?"

"It had to be you, Jathe," I said. "You're the only person who knew where I was going - and don't give me any gaffe about orders from higher up. I'm Esoteric - the Monasteries aren't about to waste my training on a stupid snatch-and-grab. You knew Grist would be dead when I got there, because you killed him. It took me a while to remember where I'd seen that pattern of cuts before - it's an old Monastic practice, isn't it? For traitors."

"Caine, Caine," Jathe said, backing away faster. "We can talk about this."

 

"No, Jathe," I said, speeding up myself. "I don't think we can. You wanted the Greaves for yourself, and you wanted me out of your hair and out of the Monasteries. The only thing I don't understand is why."

Jathe stopped backing away. "You don't understand? You don't understand?" he repeated disbelievingly. "I spend years - my entire life - working my way up through the proper channels, every perfect step - and then you come along, and everyone is fawning over you, just because you know a few exotic ways of killing people. Do you have any idea what that's like?" It was his turn to advance on me, which was just fine with me - I needed him to take the first swing.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I know what that's like. It sucks rotten goat dick, doesn't it, Jathe? Watching some hotshot kid - hell, you've probably seen a dozen of us over the years - come along and just push you aside, over and over - "

With an inarticulate cry, he rushed me. I felt that old feral grin spreading across my face as I spread my arms wide, ready for him.

It was all over too quickly for my taste. I couldn't risk harming him too much, after all - not only did I need him in one piece for the magistrates, but the Monasteries frowned rather violently on killing within its ranks. In a few short moments I had him on his knees in front of me, panting in pain as I pulled his arm nearly to the breaking point over his head.

"Don't fight it, Jathe," I urged him. "You'll only break it. That's fine with me, but I'm sure you won't want to go to the Donjon with a broken arm."

Just like with the ogrillo, I saw the fight go out of him just before he sagged. I let up on the pressure just a little, and turned to the thieves that had followed me out of the building. "You guys catch that?" They nodded. Not the best witnesses I could have, but they were better than nothing.

"Come on, Jathe," I said, dragging him to his feet and prodding him along ahead of me. "It's time to go talk to the magistrates."


End file.
